


Small Town Gothic

by pluto_the_planet



Category: Original Work
Genre: Drabble, Gothic, I don't know why I wrote this, New England, Short Stories, Writing, gothic writing, small town
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-07
Updated: 2019-08-07
Packaged: 2020-08-11 10:54:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20152453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pluto_the_planet/pseuds/pluto_the_planet
Summary: A short Gothic about small towns. It's not very good, but I tried. Some of these are based off personal experiences.Take from that what you will......





	Small Town Gothic

There’s one person you see everywhere. You can’t remember who they are. But you’re sure you know them…..

The teachers at the local schools are immortal. They remember teaching your parents, and your grandparents. They never age.

When you were little, the kids on the bus told you that the old graveyard was haunted. They told you to hold your breath while the bus drives by it, or the ghosts will possess you. You know they were lying. Holding your breath won’t do anything to stop them.

Your house is on a dead end road. One time, you see an unfamiliar car driving up your road. You swear you never saw the car drive down it.

“Don’t go in the woods alone”. That’s what everyone’s parents say. You always listen. You know what happens if you don’t…

The red graffiti on the bathroom stalls looks suspiciously like blood. You don’t question it.

Locals rarely buy anything from the local country store. Somehow, it’s still in business. You don’t want to know how.

The town has 1 gas station. No one ever uses the bathroom there. Somehow, it’s still always disgusting.

There’s a marsh by the baseball fields. You don’t go i there. You know if you do, you won’t come back.

Someone new moves to town. A year later, they’re gone. No one remembers them. They never existed.

Your town has 5 churches. No one in your town goes to them. You wonder who does.

The churches have signs with statements about damnation and hell. You know that they aren’t threats. They’re warnings. You know what dwells here.

The town has 1 ice cream place. Behind it, there’s a shed. Through the dusty windows of it, you can see the naked bodies of countless porcelain dolls. You don’t look through the window again.

When it rains, bones wash up from the small family graveyards in people’s backyards. This doesn’t even phase you anymore.

There’s a haunted house in town. On Halloween, kids dare each other to touch it. No one ever gets close enough.

Sometimes, you think you see a ghost out of the corner of your eye. But when you turn, it’s never there. You leave out an offering, just in case.

There’s a running trail in the woods behind your school. One path branches off of it, leading deeper into the forest. The older kids warn you not to follow it. You never do….

It’s May. There’s snow on the ground. You don’t question it. 

Sometimes, you walk your dog on a quiet street. Barely any cars drive down it Somehow, there’s always roadkill.

Often, Turkeys wander into people’s yards. Sometimes, you find feathers on your grass. They aren’t from the turkeys

At the edge of the soccer field, where the woods start, there’s a dilapidated shed with peeling red paint. Everyone calls it the Bloody Mary Shack. It’s what she told everyone to call it.


End file.
